“The fire is only beginning,” said he.  “When they warm up to their work, they won’t be so particular.”

A voice was now heard hailing us from the entrance.  From the window we could see the figure of a man in the moonlight; he stood motionless, his face uplifted to ours, and a rag of something white on his extended arm; and as we looked right down upon him, though he was a good many yards distant on the links, we could see the moonlight glitter on his eyes.

He opened his lips again, and spoke for some minutes on end, in a key so loud that he might have been heard in every corner of the pavilion, and as far away as the borders of the wood.  It was the same voice that had already shouted, "Traditore!" through the shutters of the dining-room; this time it made a complete and clear statement.  If the traitor “Oddlestone” were given up, all others should be spared; if not, no one should escape to tell the tale.

“Well, Huddlestone, what do you say to that?” asked Northmour, turning to the bed.

Up to that moment the banker had given no sign of life, and I, at least, had supposed him to be still lying in a faint; but he replied at once, and in such tones as I have never heard elsewhere, save from a delirious patient, adjured and besought us not to desert him.  It was the most hideous and abject performance that my imagination can conceive.

“Enough,” cried Northmour; and then he threw open the window, leaned out into the night, and in a tone of exultation, and with a total forgetfulness of what was due to the presence of a lady, poured out upon the ambassador a string of the most abominable raillery both in English and Italian, and bade him be gone where he had come from.  I believe that nothing so delighted Northmour at that moment as the thought that we must all infallibly perish before the night was out.

Meantime, the Italian put his flag of truce into his pocket, and disappeared, at a leisurely pace, among the sand hills.

“They make honorable war,” said Northmour.  “They are all gentlemen and soldiers.  For the credit of the thing, I wish we could change sides—­you and I, Frank, and you, too, missy, my darling—­and leave that being on the bed to some one else.  Tut!  Don’t look shocked!  We are all going post to what they call eternity, and may as well be above board while there’s time.  As far as I am concerned, if I could first strangle Huddlestone and then get Clara in my arms, I could die with some pride and satisfaction.  And as it is, by God, I’ll have a kiss!”

Before I could do anything to interfere, he had rudely embraced and repeatedly kissed the resisting girl.  Next moment I had pulled him away with fury, and flung him heavily against the wall.  He laughed loud and long, and I feared his wits had given way under the strain; for even in the best of days he had been a sparing and a quiet laugher.

“Now, Frank,” said he, when his mirth was somewhat appeased, “it’s your turn.  Here’s my hand.  Good-bye, farewell!” Then, seeing me stand rigid and indignant, and holding Clara to my side—­“Man!” he broke out, “are you angry?  Did you think we were going to die with all the airs and graces of society?  I took a kiss; I’m glad I did it; and now you can take another if you like, and square accounts.”